Coraline's Story Part 1
by WhispersofBliss
Summary: Future tribute Coraline Emberly sits down with what's left of her family and listens to her mother's story of how she escaped the Hunger Games twice.
1. Chapter 1

It takes me a while to get the flames to start flickering. Once they start, I stand up, wipe my dirty hands on my nightdress, and march off to the kitchen in my slippers.

"Mother, is the cocoa ready?" I scan around the kitchen looking for something to eat. My mother comes out of another room, untying her apron and wiping her brow. We've had a good run today. One of the cows had lost the ability to produce milk so we had meat for dinner, along with the green beans and wild mushrooms my sister Crystalline and I collected. We were saving those for a more special occasion, but I loved every bite of dinner. We're lucky; no everybody can go to bed with their stomachs full.

My mother smiles; her glassy turquoise eyes seem to appear a bit younger, although they do bring out the wrinkles of hardship lined on her sweet face. Although she is still young, her glossy dark brown hair has some gray intruders that never comes out no matter how hard pulled and yanked.

"Are you still hungry, dear? We have leftovers. I was saving them for tomorrow, but if you're hungry, help yourself. Tonight is a special night, isn't it? The finest we've had in a rather long time." She takes the small pot from the old stove and pours a waterfall of hot, steamy cocoa into my mug with the broken handle. I take sip after sip of the thin, bitter liquid and feel its warmth inside me. I am not going to be hungry tonight. We had a good supper. I am full, and I am content. Really.

Sometimes, though, we go to bed hungry. It is the worst drag of the night and the terror comes haunting your dreams, terror that you'll starve tomorrow and the next day and to death. But so far all these years we've always been able to find something else the next day, and then it's okay. But that doesn't mean that danger still doesn't lurk in a dark corner waiting to pounce on you when you least expect it. We could always sign up for tesserae, but my mother would never allow it. Extras means extra names in the reaping, and there's no one any of us wants to have anything to do with that.

My four sisters (Rosaline, Aveline, Caroline, and Hannelle); oh, I cannot even begin to describe the longing and aching in me. Four sisters I have lost to the reaping and what came after it-Crystalline is my last and closest sister, and I am not planning to lose her. Nor is she planning to lose me. I have lost so much already in my sixteen-almost seventeen years of living. I don't even let myself think about all my loss unless it's the day of the Reaping.

Then the tears come pouring like rain in autumn.

But for now I quietly drain my cocoa. When I am finished, I slip the mug into the sink and waddle back into the living room. It's not much, but it's got a few worn couches and rugs and a bookshelf and some pictures of family from my mother's side, and a fireplace, and a small TV resting on a cardboard box. I take a seat next to Crystalline, who is knitting furiously away at the trouble in her life. My mother sits across from us, hands folded and legs crossed.

We sit in silence, in prayer. Maybe I am foolish, but I think if I may just pray enough and show enough kindness and be so good, maybe the reaping in June will spare my family.

My mother has a thought, dreamy look on her face, before she breaks the silence. "Your birthday is coming up, Coraline."

Oh, right. My birthday. My seventeenth birthday. At least only two more to go, and then I'm free. Crystalline is turning nineteen in the loveliness of March, so she will be too old to be reaped. She is safe. I turn seventeen next week in cold, bitter January. But age is only a number. No one wins the Games, so we all have to stick together.

At least me and my family.

When my mother gets no reply from either of us, she tries again. "I have a story to tell. A story of _my_ reaping. Of the day I almost died."

We both lift our heads and stare at her intently. My mother had briefly mentioned her reapings over the years, but she never told us she had almost had her life taken.

My voice rang out, breaking the new silence. "Tell us, please. The story, if you please."

"How did you escape if you were reaped? Were you reaped?" Crystalline suddenly breaks out of her trance, her breathing returning to normal. I scowled nastily at her and immediately regretted it when her face fell into an apologetic state.

Mother nods at us grimly. "I remember it all as if it were yesterday. I was thirteen years old, having just barely escaped my first reaping a year ago. During my first reaping, the Escort had clumsily picked up too many names and was dropping them one by one back into the reaping ball. It would have been funny if the mood was not so tense. Finally she was down to picking between two names and she decided to drop the left one and read the right one. I was twelve, so I was up front, and I could see the little name printed on the little slip of paper. It said my name. Marigold Genesis. The Escort read the picked name and a moment later the little girl standing next to me climbed onto the stage with great difficulty. Henny Gossamer. I can still see her face when I close my eyes, her carroty braids blowing in the wind, the truly scared look in her gold-rimmed blue eyes, her little chest puffed out determined."

She swallows and has to take a gulp of cocoa before continuing. "As you can imagine, she didn't make it too far. The Games were especially brutal that year, and Henny Gossamer was the only twelve year old in the arena. I escaped my first year with guilt but also a great amount of relief. I thought that my troubles were over, but in fact they had just begun. I had no escape in my second reaping; the Escort picked up the little slip of paper and read out the name Marigold Genesis."

She pauses for support. I am racking my brains wondering how she escaped the arena a second time. Surely anybody couldn't be that lucky...could they?

_I will write another chapter for this. This is a little bit of the past of my tribute Coraline Emberly for a SYOT. I decided Coraline was an interesting character and she was my first SYOT tribute, so I decided to write bits and pieces of her past. If you want to read her games check out Lost in the Darkness by Sparrowcries, a great author with a spectacular imagination. I appreciate ALL FEEDBACK!_


	2. Chapter 2 Continued

The flames flicker and dance, illuminating the face of my mother, still deep in thought. I had finished my cocoa and I was warm but in no way was I comfortable. My mother took a deep breath and then continued. It was as if I was actually there on the day of her second reaping...

**(This will now change to Coraline's mother's pov since she is the one telling the story and Coraline is imagining she's actually there)**

"It was the hottest day of my life. The people had brought flyswatters with them to the Square. Rich people. Poor people. People too young for the reaping. People too old to get reaped. And people who were just the right age.

Of course the Peacekeepers kept us packed together like a block of cheese, a luxury we can only dream of affording. Sometimes we can get a little goat milk from Buttercup to make a little flaky, dry cheese, but often it was stolen by animals or rotted away because we thought it too valuable to eat so soon.

My mouth was dry and I was licking my lips, eager for some food after the Reaping when suddenly the mental Escort bounces on stage and takes her usual time adjusting the mike. When she is done we are all bored to death, and after the mayor read some Treason of Treaty thing or whatever do we get started. Started! I just wanted it over with. With the glaring yellow sun burning into my eyes and getting sweat onto my red neck like crazy, I was not in the mood to be patient or sympathetic, and certainly not grateful to such a horrendous Capitol.

I remember I was wearing a yellow dress that day. Yellow for sunshine and yellow for the summer. Because I honestly thought I was safe, you know? After that poor little girl Henny Gossamer walked onstage last year instead of me. I still remembered what she looked like that day. Clean blue dress. Dainty little hands and feet, scrubbed clean of dirt and mud and manure. Her long, orange carroty braids blowing like sails in the wind. The frightened look in her deep blue eyes rimmed with gold and emotion. I remember when the girls in my grade made fun of her for her unsightliness at school. I was friends with a couple of them, most of them. I never did, but when they do I would just stand by and stare at some point far away and say nothing in her defense.

There wasn't anything I could do for her. I had more family than she did and quite frankly more to live for, or so I thought at the time. I was so horrified at the idea of me being picked- the very thought today still makes me nauseous. I didn't do anything once again. I let her go. To her death. I could have volunteered. I could have saved her. It would have been me.

If only I was a bit braver and a bit less selfish. But I wanted to live! I didn't want to die. I had a great family and good friends and a good home. I was almost picked, but I was spared by the forces of the universe. It must've had its reasons, right? I had kept my shoulders square until my second reaping. That was when all of the guilt and regret came to me. Sure, I probably didn't volunteer and it wasn't_ my_ fault that luck favored me over her. But I at least could have defended her in school. And now it was too late.

I know I always say I remember, but even if I wanted to I could not forget the day she went. I could not forget the way she forced her skinny little legs on her little tiny body up onto the stage and then face the audience. I could not forget the silence of the square, the loud, forbidden silence as the Escort asked for volunteers. She turned her back on her way to the Justice Building, and I never had a chance to make up for my mistakes. I never saw her in person again.

I-I saw her on TV of course. Sweet and courageous even in her ridiculous cow costume, smart and strong and determined at every angle the camera pointed at her. Even when she died in the Bloodbath she looked like someone you would love immediately. How my heart ached for her. Poor, dear little girl!

I had to move on of course. It is the way of life. Kind and cruel. Brilliant and stupid. Repetitive and exciting. Things didn't get so complicated when I was thirteen. I was pretty confident. I thought I was safe. I thought I really didn't have a chance of being picked this year. So then I wouldn't relive my nightmare. How very wrong I was.

When the escort read my name, I actually felt deaf and numb. No. I didn't believe it. It couldn't be. It just _couldn't_. What were the odds of my name being drawn again? Apparently not in my favor, I thought to myself as I slowly began my walk to hell. Just when I was almost onstage and had ridden myself of all hope, my savior, my hero, my light came in. Of course if you're dreamy, not unlike yourself Coraline dear, you probably expect some gallant knight on horseback with a sword when you picture hero. But no. My hero was in the shape and form of a girl. Five years older than me. And far from dashing. She had a nice face but her auburn hair was frizzy and messy and it looked like she slept in her reaping clothes. Her eyes were swollen and bloodshot and it took me a few moments before I decided the color was a pasty olive green. But she took heroism nonetheless, for she dived right in and screamed, "I VOLUNTEER!"

The entire square stared in shock and then burst into polite, if not forced, applause. I couldn't bring my hands to clap together. I was too busy staring at this girl, this brave volunteer, this stranger who had probably just saved my life. She said she was eighteen and her name was Morning Glory. My mouth opened in shock, my heart went out to this girl.

I will never forget the day Morning Glory risked her life and everything of her past, present, and future just for me, a strange little 13 year old who probably would not have survived to grow up. But she did, and she became a Victor, and she was famous and rich and a hero in our district and she deserved every last bit of praise. The years went by. I got married; she got married. I was never able to thank her properly. I did sew and knit sweaters for her, but it's saving a life and knitting some lamb fur. I was always in her debt.

We had kids. She had a beautiful baby girl named Charity Dusk, and well you know what happened, and then I had my darlings Crystalline and Coraline. This is always my favorite memory, for it plays the most important role in my life. A path to continue life, was what Morning Glory Dusk had given me many years ago."

My mother finishes and closes her eyes, her chest heaving up and down as she breathes. Crystalline and I glance at each other uneasily. It takes a while for this to sink in, but once it does, I waste no time in getting up and hugging my last sister. _I will never lose you, _I thought with tears staining my eyes, _Dear Crystalline, that kind woman saw that our mother was a hopeless young child and risked her own life so mother could have a chance with hers. That kind of debt I'm unsure how to repay. But one thing I want you to know is that I will never ever leave you. My deepest love to you and mother~Goodnight and sweet dreams. _But as we break apart the hug I cannot help but wonder what I could do to ever pay back Morning Glory and Charity Dusk for the life they had given to my mother. To me.


	3. Chapter 3 Rosaline's POV

_ I slept fitfully all night. Dreams of my past came creeping onto me and leaped into my mind, forcing images that bring me terrible agony and grief. What was creepier was that all these dreams occurred in order. After I wake up I would got a drink of water, but once falling back asleep I would be plagued by nightmares once again. There is no escape, I thought with tears in my eyes. I dreamed of my sisters talking to me, telling me their stories. _

**The next part and the next few chapters will be told from the P.O.V. of Coraline's four sisters. They are telling about their experience, their feelings, and what going into the Hunger Games meant for them.**

Deep down I know something might happen, something like this, but Father, I don't blame you one bit.

My name is Rosaline Dawn Emberly and I am eighteen years old. I was supposed to be safe this year. This year was supposed to turn the tide. And it did, but not to the good side like we all expected.

Of course, when my father took me across the room in the secret of the night and told me he had something very important to tell me, I listened intently. And I absolutely disagreed that he should do it, but he'd already made up his mind. He also told me that I'm the first person he's told this to. Mother was an amazing woman, but absolutely too flighty and emotional for her to accept what he was going to do. Honestly, I wasn't sure if I could accept it myself, but my father insisted it was for the best for our family.

And just like that, reluctantly, I let him go.

My mother was worried sick at first. She stopped paying attention to the world around her, and she grew thin and frail. It wasn't until I was chosen for the Hunger Games that I knew that my father wasn't coming back. And I knew my mother was dying of heartbreak, so I broke my honor that I swore and told her where Father's gone. To my surprise, she listened, and she listened well. She cried with a watery smile and told me I was very brave and good to keep Father's promise so well. She told me she only wished to see him one last time. "You can," I had said, and then took off my tiny locket and put it around her neck.

"I positively can't; you need him more than me now," she said, handing it back to me. It went back and forth until I said that if I die in the arena it would go to the Capitol. After that she took it back and hugged me until Peacekeepers pried us apart.

The train ride was such a new experience for me. We're not rich at home, but definitely not poor and starving. But I had never seen luxury before, and the Capitol was what I imagined beyond possible. Even the food (quail eggs, orange soda, spitfire roast ham, honey cobbler, and geese bellies stuffed with jellies and dark berries) was rich and thick. There were a few nights once in awhile when we went to bed hungry, but when my father was around we always had enough to go to the market. Since our father left the District, I had taken over. Milking cows, butchering meat, collecting eggs, trading and buying at our Farmer's Market.

My sisters all came to say their goodbyes, too of course. I took sixteen-year-old Aveline, the second oldest, and whispered to her all my duties and how they were her duties now. I told her Mother would help her. She nodded at me with tears in her green eyes, which looked at mine greedily.

In the Capitol I was considered a beauty for someone coming from District 10. My stylist decided that my dark chocolate eyes and chestnut curls would make a great panda instead of the cow costume I was going to wear. So for the tribute parade I was a favorite and I had gained some sponsors.

Training was not beautiful, but I knew how to kill since I had butchered animals and used tools back on the farm. The District 1 male was frothing at the mouth as he eyed my spearing accuracy. That is a memory and a proud moment of my life that will always make me smile.


End file.
